The mask
by The Young Writer's Apprentice
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was a great actor. He could fake tears on command, pretend to be a drunk without any effort, and he played the part of a terrified priest easily. His longest role yet, however, was that of the highly functioning sociopath. But even the best actor can't keep up a role forever. rated T for mentions of abuse
1. Chapter 1

"_No!" A young boy shouted as he watched his older brother walk to the gate at the end of the driveway to their mansion. His brother turned around and smiled sadly. _

"_Bye, Sherlock." He stated. Sherlock ran down the plateau, quickly catching up with Mycroft, and grabbed the boy's elbow. _

"_Please, don't go." He whimpered meekly. Mycroft crouched down slightly, so he could look his little brother in the eyes. _

"_I'm going to Cambridge University, Sherlock, It's a huge chance. Do you understand that?" He asked gently. He hated to leave his brother behind, but he needed to get out of their environment to be able to save him. _

"_But you can't leave me alone with father." Sherlock sniffed, and Mycroft's face fell. "Sherlock, listen to me." He said, his voice suddenly serious. "You are ten, but if you work hard, you'll be able to graduate by the time you're thirteen. Whatever happens in those three years, just remember that I'll always watch over you." Sherlock nodded. "When you're around father, keep your emotions in check. Remember, showing emotions is showing weakness in his eyes." The taxi which would take Mycroft to the campus honked, and the teenager looked up agitatedly. "I really have to go now, Sherlock. Keep safe." Mycroft sighed, wrapping his arms around his brother in a hug. _

_Sherlock watched the cab pull away, taking his big brother with it. _

"_Come inside boy." A mature voice called out, and Sherlock flinched instantly, before venturing inside. A tall man stood leaning against the handrail of the large staircase. "So he finally left, huh?" Sherlock's father sneered. "I guess nobody wants to stay around a freak like you."_

Sherlock Holmes was a great actor. He could fake tears on command, pretend to be a drunk without any effort, and he played the part of a terrified priest easily.

His longest role yet, however, was that of the highly functioning sociopath. It was a mask, he could slip it on as easily as somebody else could change his clothes, and he used it to protect himself from the harsh world. He started to use it when he was just a ten year old, trying to prevent people from coming to close, hiding the secret of his abuse. After lots of research, he got every detail right.

But even the best actor can't keep up a role forever. The tight mask he had formed started to crack as soon as doctor John Hamish Watson limped into his life. The man had served in the army, that was obvious. Sherlock could recall the exact words he told D.I. Greg(?) Lestrade to describe the man who had killed the homicidal cabbie.

"Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service and nerves of steel."

And then he saw John, just standing there with a worried look on his face, it was special to Sherlock, because most people didn't get that worried for him when they knew him for years, let alone twenty-four hours. The sight of the man, who was trying just a little too much to look innocent had shut him up effectively. Dr. John Watson, the decent military man had shot a man for his flat mate, who he hadn't even known for more than a day.

That moment, the first crack had been formed.

In the months Sherlock spent with John, small cracks started to appear frequently. Every time John treated him like a normal human being, a friend, Sherlock felt his act break down a little bit further. He started to show his real emotions to the army man hesitantly, and he was surprised to find out John didn't treat him like he was weak when he did so.

On the evening Sherlock saw the hound, a large part of his mask finally broke off. He had panicked, feeling scared and confused. John had tried to get close to him, and that scared the detective even more, he didn't let people come close. It would end up with him getting hurt.

In his confusion, he had lashed out to John.

"I don't have friends." Four words, and Sherlock had regretted them before he had even finished the sentence. The look on John's face was one of surprise and hurt, and Sherlock wanted to take the words back badly.

Even though he hadn't planned on it, he had let John come close already, and the man had done nothing to hurt him. Sherlock had groaned to himself, and came up with a plan to make it up the next day. He didn't manage to get an actual apology out of his mouth, so instead he had twisted his words, "I've only got one." John had still been angry, but Sherlock had seen his face soften, and he knew things would be alright.

The consulting detective had tried to pull his mask up again, but no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to restore it completely. When he and John worked on cases for Scotland Yard, he wasn't the sociopath the police force knew anymore. Sherlock knew D.I. (Greg?) Lestrade had noticed, the man had more patience with him than before when he was rude once again. And he had once heard the detective inspector and John talk about him behind his back.

He had been upset about it first, how could John gossip about him? But then he had heard The doctor's fond tone, and the nice words, causing him to stay and listen. The two discussed how Sherlock was opening up to people more, and John commented on how happy that made him, to which Lestrade agreed. Sherlock had felt a small smile creep onto his face. John liked him opening up, and that made him want to try harder. Maybe letting people get close wasn't so bad after all.

That day, Sherlock went to the crime scene alone. John was on a date with some new woman who had recently gotten a job in the doctor's office he worked, and had made Sherlock promise he wouldn't interrupt them. While Sherlock was leaning above the body, he regretted making that promise. He missed John, and his soft voice complimenting him. A genius needed an audience, and John truly was the best public he could wish for.

"You are looking for a male, about 1.80m, who knew the victim well. The motive was revenge." Sherlock told Lestrade, who nodded and made a few notes. The D.I. didn't say anything about the bluntness the genius was speaking with. He understood Sherlock didn't like working without John.

Donovan and Anderson didn't have as much tact. The two of them stood next to door of the house the victim had been found in.

"Isn't John with you?" Donovan asked. She wasn't trying to be mean, Sherlock realized, so he cut her some slack and answered normally.

"No, he has a date." He stated, before continuing to walk down the steps. He heard Anderson snort, and fought the urge to turn around and spout embarrassing deductions about the man, but Anderson didn't let him. Instead, he unconsciously repeated the most painful words somebody had ever said to Sherlock Holmes.

"I guess nobody wants to stay around a freak like you, huh?"

**A/N: Dun Dun Dun. :3 don't worry, I've got another chapter planned, maybe even a third if you are positive. The Idea came from tumblr, a friend was spouting painful head canons, and this Abused!lock thing really intrigued me. I haven't been abused myself, and I haven't got a clue if this is accurate or not, I just thought this was a nice idea. If you have any comments, please leave a review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stared at Anderson in shock. He opened his mouth to sneer something, but closed it again when he couldn't find a thing to say. Donovan obviously was bewildered too.

"You crossed the line David!" she snapped at him. Sherlock didn't react to Sally defending him, his mind had stopped for a few awful moments when he had heard the words Anderson had spoken, but now his thoughts were buzzing around his brain with lightning speed, confusing him.

The detective noticed Donovan coming towards him, but he ignored her and stalked away as fast as he could, trying not to run away from the scene like a child. He didn't make any effort to hail a cab, maybe the walk home would ease his mind a bit.

The remaining part of his mask had been taken from him roughly, and he was currently fighting an emotional breakdown. It was truly ridiculous, Sherlock Holmes didn't have emotional breakdowns, but the words Anderson, and long before that his father, had spoken kept repeating in his head, suppressing his other thoughts.

When he finally closed the door of flat 221B behind him, Sherlock had trouble breathing. The silence in the flat was deafening, and although he normally didn't mind, the lack of sound drove him crazy now. The silence forced him to face the fact that he was alone. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was 20:13, John wouldn't be home for at least another two hours. _If_ he was coming home.

Sherlock felt tears welling up in his eyes. He shook his head, as if that would help him forcing them back. He refused to cry, the last time he did was when Mycroft had gone to college, leaving him with their father, and the display of emotions had caused him a lot of trouble back then.

The detective started a search for John's gun. He needed the damned silence to disappear, and he deemed breaking glass to dangerous because the shards that would end up all over the room. It didn't take long for him to find the browning, even when John put much effort in hiding it, Sherlock would always be able to find it in under ten minutes. He used the spray-painted smiley face on the wall as his target, as usual.

The loud gunshots didn't help him clear his mind or suppress his emotions though. After the fourth shot he heard rushed footsteps hurrying up the stairs. The person was trying to come up fast, but had trouble climbing the stairs, and the footsteps were light. That meant it was Mrs. Hudson then.

"Sherlock what are you do-" The older woman stopped in the middle of her sentence. Sherlock realized how he looked, shaking, still holding the raised gun and he had teary eyes.

"Oh, Sherlock dear." Mrs. Hudson said softly as she strode up to him, carefully taking the gun from his grasp, before leading him over to the sofa.

She sat down next to him, and pulled him against her slightly.

"Did your father find you again?" she asked, keeping her tone motherly. Mrs. Hudson was the only person Sherlock had ever told about his abusive father.

Sherlock was young when Mycroft had presented Mrs. Hudson's case to him. The woman had been abused by her husband, an alcohol addict who would get violent when he came home drunk. The man had been arrested on the suspicion of a double murder in Florida, but the jury had wanted more evidence before they convicted him.

It was a remarkably simple case, but Sherlock had felt the need to protect the woman, who had been through so much. After making sure Mrs. Hudson's husband ended up in the electric chair, he had kept contact with her, and at some point she had taken the role of his mother.

"No, he doesn't have a clue where I am." Sherlock replied, returning to the present. He noted how much his voice shook, and he knew Mrs. Hudson had noticed too.

"Then what's wrong, if it's not your father?" She asked, and Sherlock hid his face in her shoulder.

"John's going to leave." He answered after a few moments, in which Mrs. Hudson had started to rub his shoulders soothingly. His voice was muffled by Mrs. Hudson's vest.

Mrs. Hudson stopped abruptly.

"Leave?" she repeated, looking confused.

"He's on a date now." Sherlock explained. "He made me promise I wouldn't interrupt. And Anderson said-" he cut of his own sentence, realizing what he was about to say. Mrs. Hudson smiled, but Sherlock didn't understand why. This wasn't remotely funny, was it? She played with a stray curl that had fallen in front of his eyes.

"What did Anderson say?" she asked, her voice gentle and soft again. Sherlock looked up, a tear trickling down is cheek.

"He said nobody would want to stay around a freak like me." He answered softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Mrs. Hudson let out a sharp gasp and untangled herself from her tenant. She grabbed Sherlock's phone out of the pocket of his jacket, and called a number.

"John? This is Mrs. Hudson." She said after a while, the person she had called obviously had picked up his phone. Sherlock shot to his feet.

"Mrs. Hudson, NO! I promised him!" he protested, he wouldn't be able to handle John being cross with him right now.

"Yes. Something happened at the crime scene." The woman continued, ignoring the detective who was desperately begging her to hang up with his eyes. Sherlock saw her flinch, and he knew it was because he didn't beg, not even silently.

"No he isn't wounded, but I would appreciate it if you came home, he needs his friend right now."

She paused for a while, listening to what John said on the other side of the line.

"That's great. I'll stay with him until you're home." She said, before slipping the phone back into the pocket of Sherlock's Jacket again.

She returned to Sherlock's side and sat down with him.

"Everything will be fine dear." She said soothingly. Sherlock nodded, trying to believe what she said. It was hard, it would be logical for John to be angry with him, right? He did break his promise, and ruined a date, _again_.

After sitting in silence for ten minutes, John's heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the staircase. Mrs Hudson carefully rose from the sofa.

"I'll give the two of you some privacy." She said as John opened the door. She patted Sherlock on the arm reassuringly, and slipped past John, closing the door behind her as she left.

Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest, and turned around, facing the sofa. He heard John carefully coming closer.

"What happened, Sherlock?" he asked. The tone he used wasn't an angry one, instead, it was the one he used to comfort his patients. That tone was supposed to be reassuring, but it did the opposite to Sherlock, he felt more insecure, because John thought he needed to be gentle.

Why did the doctor think that? Wasn't it more logical to be angry? Maybe John was angry, but just didn't want to show it, that was probable.

Sherlock considered sending John back to his date. He was about to say "I'm sorry, I was angry, and Mrs. Hudson was exaggerating," when John sat down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, please, talk to me." The plea sounded genuine, so full of concern, that Sherlock turned around. Arms still wrapped around himself protectively, he looked up at his friend.

Sherlock felt another tear slip down his cheek, leaving a cold trail on his skin.

"When are you going to leave?" he choked out. John frowned.

"Friday."

**A/N: Oh I know I'm just horrible, doing this to you. I just can't help it, continuing this chapter would make it sloppy. Anyway, I noticed I forgot the disclaimer last chapter. You get the drill, I don't owe Sherlock, I don't actually have the right to write this, I don't make money out of this, blah blah blah. If you have the time to leave a comment, please do, I like to know what you think. **


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock never understood why people said a heart could "break". It was a strange expression, feelings and emotions were all regulated in the brain, the heart was nothing but a pump to keep blood flowing through the veins of the body, the heart has nothing to do with it.

But when John's voice calmly formed that one word, Sherlock felt his heart shatter. He bowed his head again, and bit back a sob.

"Sherlock, we talked about this, Harry's been nagging me about not visiting her for over two months, it's just for the weekend." John said gently.

"Right." Sherlock croaked, feeling uncomfortable, but very relieved. "You'll come home Sunday?" he asked, hoping to confirm the relieve was justified. John nodded in agreement, but the worried expression didn't leave the doctor's face.

"Please, Sherlock, tell me what happened." John whispered.

The detective swallowed, but didn't react otherwise. He didn't want to make John plea, but he couldn't explain what had happened at the crime scene, the words were stuck in his throat.

"Look at me, Sherlock." John ordered, apparently he had decided that he needed a more direct approach.

Sherlock looked up, tears still evident on his cheeks.

"You are going to leave." He insisted quietly, avoiding John's eyes, but still facing the other man.

"Why do you think that?" John asked exasperated. `

"I know I'm a horrible person to live with John." Sherlock said quietly.

"And you also know that I can put up with that, so why do you think I'm going to leave?"

"Because you're still going on dates!" Sherlock spat out, covering his sadness under a layer of venom. He knew it wouldn't end well, it didn't end well when he did it during the Baskerville case either, but he couldn't stop himself from doing it.

The surprise was evident in John's body language. He had backed away just a few centimetres, and his expression became slightly rigid.

"Well, yeah..." He started, but he didn't finish the sentence, because Sherlock gave him a pointed look. "What has that got to do with anything?" John asked.

Sherlock scoffed, as if he couldn't believe John didn't understand something so simple.

"People go on dates with the intention to find someone to share the rest of their lives with!" he snapped. "You and I've got a life together, you like rushing off into danger together, solving cases with me, but you don't intend to stay, because you. Are. still. Dating. People."

Sherlock watched as John tried to process what had just happened. He hugged himself again, staring at his feet. This was tedious, he just couldn't figure out what was going on in John's head, and not knowing agitated him to no end.

"I guess I'm just afraid." John whispered softly. Sherlock jerked his head up, staring at John with a calculating gaze.

"Of what?" He asked. John sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

"Sherlock, you are a genius. You can tell peoples life by their left thumb, solve cases the police can't even begin to understand, but you live for puzzles and games. And then there's me, I'm just an ex-army doctor, not anywhere near as intelligent as you are, certainly not special. You'll grow bored of me. And I think I just don't want to be alone when that happens."

For once, Sherlock was truly surprised. How could he ever grow bored of John? The man was full of contradictions, he was a doctor, but he graved the thrill of the battle field, where people lost their lives. He was always working to save people, but didn't hesitate to kill people if necessary.

"Why would I ever grow bored of you?" Sherlock asked. Had he really given John that impression?

"There's no way I would ever grow bored of you, you are so full of surprises. Every time I think I've gotten you all figured out, you do something to surprise me, and put my whole theory upside down. I'll never be able to figure you out completely. Besides, even if I will, one day, you'll never bore me."

He added.

John smiled at him, and Sherlock felt the worry lighten.

"You are my one true friend, John, the only one who could see through the mask. Don't forget."

"Come here, Sherlock." John said, and as the detective scooted closer, John wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a comfortable hug.

Sherlock calmed down as John simply sat there with him. He was doing almost exactly the same as Mrs. Hudson had done, but this time the rubbing on his shoulders actually worked to relax him.

"It's not that I didn't need this talk, Sherlock, but what happened on the crime scene to bring this on?" John asked gently.

Sherlock let out a breath.

"I had solved the case, it was a rather easy one, and as I left, Anderson felt the need to point out I was alone." He said.

"Didn't you bite back?" John asked surprised. Sherlock shrugged leaning into John's touch just a little bit more.

"What he said was... triggering." He muttered. "I shut down."

John nodded. "I'm going to pay him a visit at the yard tomorrow." He said in a low voice. The doctor gently got out of their embrace, and walked over to the table, picking up his phone.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, a bit irritated at the sudden lack of touch. John selected a number and lifted the phone to his ear. He turned to Sherlock and smiled.

"I just need to inform Harry that there will be two guests instead of one."

**A/N: Tada! This is a bit fluffy to make up for the ending of last chapter. I was just horrible right? I guess I understand why Mofat likes cliff hangers so much. Anyway, I don't own Sherlock, don't make any money out of this, it's just for fun. I think I'll write a chapter about John confronting Anderson, and maybe a sequel, but I'm not too sure about it yet. Leave a comment if you want either, or just want to say what you think. **


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